


Ulterior motives

by ToxicAvenger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Sheriarty - Freeform, Smut, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicAvenger/pseuds/ToxicAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim’s lips pull up in a smile that sends shivers down Sherlock’s back. The sudden shift in the atmosphere throws him, and he can only watch as Jim takes a leisurely step towards him, then another, sizing him up. </p><p>Suddenly Sherlock feels like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He swallows heavily, his heart hammering in his chest and heat rising inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ulterior motives

**Author's Note:**

> Person A and B are verbally fighting (probably about something stupid) when person A says “Shut up!“. Person B says "Make me!“, and person A replies "I will,but you might moan a little.”
> 
> Basically a PWP based on this tumblr prompt that got out of hand.

Sherlock’s patience is wearing thin. Against all logic, he shakes the door handle of the locked door yet again. The result is as infuriating as it is predictable. He inhales slowly, and turns to face Jim, who is leaning nonchalantly against the wall in the hallway of his latest bolt hole.

The look on Jim’s face, the one of wry amusement, the one he always gets when he is having fun at Sherlock’s expense, is accompanied by a low chuckle, almost inaudible. Sherlock catches it nonetheless, no doubt as Jim intended, and it only adds to his restless impatience. He lets go of the door handle and drops his hand at the side, clenching and unclenching his fists in rapid succession. Jim’s eyes travel across him as if he’s memorizing the whole display, smirk never faltering.

“For God’s sake, Jim. You had the keys. You told me so when we left!”

Jim only raises an eyebrow quizzically, and speaks with a voice as low and soft as Sherlock’s is loud and harsh. Their different ways of handling stress yet again rising to the surface.

“Did I? I can’t recall anything of the sort.” Jim’s eyes glitter and the corners his mouth twitch as if he’s trying, and failing, to repress his mirth. His obvious amusement makes Sherlock’s blood boil. To his great irritation, Jim doesn’t seem to understand the urgency. His specimens are on the counter in the kitchen, lying exposed in room temperature, and will be ruined shortly if he can’t get in to handle them properly.

“I have a perfectly adequate sense of hearing and a quite satisfactory memory. Unless my senses deceive me, and they hardly ever do, I distinctly remember hearing you say: ‘Got the keys’,” Sherlock says through gritted teeth. An overwhelming urge to grab Jim by the lapels of his suit and shake that lopsided grin off his face comes over him, but he contents himself with only glowering at him.

Jim’s smirk disappear at the accusation. “No, Sherlock, darling. Have you taken a wrong turn in that enormous mind palace of yours? If you can find and replay that moment, you will distinctly hear me asking: ‘Got the keys?’ A question, not a statement. I do believe you’re familiar with the difference?” Something akin to steel has seeped into his voice now, his eyebrows are knitted together and shoulders hunched defensively.

“That is simply not true, Jim. It was not a question. You are trying to put this on me, when it is evident that you are one to blame.” Sherlock’s breathing accelerates from exasperation and frustration at the thought of his work going to waste. He closes his eyes. “My samples are going to be destroyed. Three days of work for no use.”

Sherlock ignores the knowledge he should drop the matter, anger still flaring in his chest. He needs an outlet, some way to take his mind off his experiments going to ruins.

“This is your flat after all, Jim. Why on earth would you expect me to bring the keys?” Sherlock grinds his teeth at the note of childish petulance in his own voice, but he can’t help himself.

“Oh, why don’t you just shut up, Sherlock!” The reply takes Sherlock by surprise, and he wants to roll his eyes at Jim’s inability to come up with actual argumentation, but refrains.

“Why don’t you make me?” The childish reply is out of Sherlock’s mouth before he has made a conscious decision to speak, and he inhales sharply in surprise at himself. Flustered, he can’t think of a single thing to say to recover the situation, and he feels a humiliating heat rise to his cheeks.

Sherlock watches Jim’s eyes widen infinitesimally, but the man stays completely immobile for a few seconds, holding his gaze. In the soft lighting of the hallway it seems to Sherlock that Jim’s brown eyes have taken on a dangerous glow.

Finally Jim speaks, softly. “Oh, I will. But you might moan a little…”

Jim’s lips pull up in a smile that sends shivers down Sherlock’s back. The sudden shift in the atmosphere throws Sherlock, and he can only watch as Jim takes a leisurely step towards him, then another, sizing him up. Suddenly he feels like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He swallows heavily, his heart hammering in his chest and heat rising inside. 

“Really, Jim. You do have a rather exaggerated confidence in your own powers of seduct-…”

Sherlock’s attempt at hiding how affected he is by Jim’s undisguised intentions is cut short as Jim closes the distance between them. Without lingering, he tilts his face up to press his lips firmly against Sherlock’s, hands coming up to cup his face.

In a matter of a seconds Sherlock’s body is on fire. Heat pools low in his stomach, and his eyes flutter shut at the feeling of Jim’s lips and his soft hands against his cheeks. How ironic that the touch of a hardened criminal is the gentlest of sensations. It never seizes to amaze Sherlock.

Rational thinking suspended, the animal instincts in a lesser used part of Sherlock’s brain rule his body now. They cause him to open his mouth to allow Jim’s tongue to brush against his. Sherlock breathes into Jim’s mouth, inhales him, tastes him. He’s able to discern a mix of mint, something sweet, coffee… No, he can’t even distinguish them all properly, not when Jim’s hands are making their way down his sides. They come to rest on his arse, gripping lightly, as if to coax a reaction from him.

Sherlock realizes that Jim is still playing that game, trying to draw that moan out of him as he’d promised. Sherlock’s irritation is still present somewhere deep down in his mind, and he’s adamant about not giving Jim that satisfaction. He represses the urge to make a sound, no matter how exquisite the feeling of Jim’s delicate, small fingers stroking up and down his arse is.

Without warning, Jim moves to turn Sherlock, roughly backing him up against the wall. He presses his body into Sherlock’s, and grinds his hips slowly against him. The lights in the hallway are starting to swim before Sherlock’s eyes, and he gasps at the sensation of Jim’s hard erection pressing against his own slightly throbbing cock.

“Almost, Sherlock… Almost…” Jim mumbles against his lips, and Sherlock can practically feel the man’s lips pull up in a grin in spite of the kiss.

“Not even… close…” Sherlock pants, more decided than ever not to make a sound. But even as he says it he knows his fate is sealed. Jim hands have moved to his front, squeezed between their bodies, and he is fumbling to unbuckle Sherlock’s belt.

“Jim, in the hallway? What about the… neighbours?” Sherlock’s voice is embarrassingly breathy as he pulls out of the kiss. He’s trying to stall, to buy some time to get his body under control. Jim doesn’t answer, only persists wordlessly. Before long he has completed his task, and pulls at Sherlock’s trousers, leaving his hard cock obscured only by the thin piece of fabric of his boxers.

Pulling back slightly, he stares into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock in his turn takes in the beautiful man in front of him. His hair is slightly tousled, his mouth hangs open as he breathes and his lips are red and swollen from their kisses. Sherlock’s heart is hammering in his chest, almost painfully, and he feels that magnetic pull inside of him once again, the one he can never explain, no more than he could escape it should he want to. He can’t speak, and he can’t move. He waits for Jim to make his move.

“What neighbours? I’ve bought the entire building.” Jim smirks at his own statement, but Sherlock isn’t even able to roll his eyes. Never breaking eye contact, Jim slowly sinks to his knees in front of him. Sherlock suddenly realises he’s holding his breath from anticipation, his pulse quickening so it fills his ears with a sound like waves crashing against the shore.

Slowly, Jim leans in and lets his tongue play over the bulge in Sherlock's boxers. Even separated by the cotton fabric the touch makes his body jerk. Again he smothers a moan as it is about to rise up his throat, biting the insides of his cheeks and rolling his head from side to side as Jim’s tongue slides up and down. He can’t help himself and flexes his hips against Jim’s mouth, his breathing coming in small gasps now, thrills of electricity running along his body.

Jim is making small contented noises against his cock, and opens his mouth wider to let his teeth grace his entire length. Shielded by the boxer there is only pleasure, and stars dance behind closed eyelids. Sherlock’s hands grip at Jim’s hair, he doesn’t know if it is to steady himself, to claim some kind of control, or to show appreciation.

Under Jim’s insistent and forceful tongue Sherlock can feel himself starting to leak, and knows Jim will realize soon enough. As anticipated, a few moments later he feels Jim humming against his cock, before he pulls back. Sherlock opens his eyes and looks down at the man on his knees, and sees nothing but raw desire in his eyes.

“Oh, Sherlock. I dare say you are enjoying yourself. But no moaning yet… Let’s see what we can do about that.” Sherlock only closes his eyes again and leans his head back against the wall in response. In a swift motion, Jim eases Sherlock’s boxers down, releasing his jutting erection. The head glistens with precome, and Jim touches his lips at it, letting his tongue run around the tip.

At the feel of Jim’s wet tongue against his throbbing cock, Sherlock concedes defeat and lets an obscene moan travel from the core of his body to be released into the otherwise silent hallway. Jim flashes him a triumphant glance. That first moan is rapidly followed by a stream of noises, ranging from small whimpers to feral growling as Jim closes his mouth around his cock and takes all of him, all of him so far that Sherlock can feel the back of his throat.

“Oh…. Fuck! Jim, that’s… Fuck!” Sherlock groans in pleasure, and it takes all his willpower to refrain from thrusting further into Jim’s warm mouth, not wanting to choke him. 

Jim’s hands come up to Sherlock’s hips, and he presses Sherlock deeper into his mouth. Sherlock realizes it is Jim’s way of letting him know he can use his mouth as he pleases. Something deep inside him clenches tightly and he carefully flexes his hips forwards once. Twice. Again, and again. Time stops as Sherlock relishes the intoxicating feeling.

Jim is still holding on to Sherlock’s hips for support, and makes a satisfied humming noise around his cock. His eyes are closed and his head tilted slightly back to be able to fit as much of Sherlock as possible into his mouth, as the detective trusts slowly and languorously. In Sherlock’s breathless state, except for the moans that he’s now unable to control, the only way of expressing his appreciation and pleasure is by rubbing small circles onto the back of Jim’s head with his fingers.

All thoughts of samples, missing keys and childish challenges are long forgotten, buried deep in Sherlock hazy mind, and he allows himself to get completely lost in sensations. His only conscious thought is to try to find a gentle enough rhythm for Jim, but as the world narrows in to consist only of his partners willing mouth, he increases the speed without realizing, knotting his fingers in Jim’s hair. He feels the orgasm he is chasing start to build inside him.

Suddenly Sherlock’s trance is broken by Jim trying to call his attention. He releases Sherlock’s hips and places his hands firmly on top of Sherlock’s, which are clutching his hair tightly. Only then does Sherlock realize that Jim is choking around him, strangled sounds smothered against his cock. He slows and pulls out, shooting a guilty glance down at Jim.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Jim, I… got a bit carried away,” Sherlock gasps, giving the man beneath him space to breathe. Jim coughs and lifts one hand to his face to wipe his eyes clear of tears, but he doesn’t pull away. He only locks eyes with Sherlock again, desire still burning in them, giving him a wordless go ahead to resume.

Entering Jim’s warm mouth again, feeling his tongue eagerly circling his cock, draws another thick moan from Sherlock, and somehow it gives him an odd feeling, reminiscent of coming home. He knows it won’t take long as he continues to thrust into Jim’s warmth. Every nerve ending in his body jitters, and he leans back against the wall and lets his primal instincts take over.

“I’m so close Jim, oh fuck… I can’t… Jimmmm,” he slurs incoherently, as Jim palms his balls gently, rubbing and squeezing until Sherlock's legs shake uncontrollably, eyes squeezed so tightly shut that tiny spots start dancing behind his eyelids.

When Sherlock tips over the edge with a groan and fills Jim’s mouth with come, his eyes are drawn to Jim’s face and his mouth, as he receives all of it easily. His hands are gripping at Sherlock’s hips, and his face is slightly flushed but relaxed. Sherlock is usually not one to contemplate beauty, but in this moment, he can’t think of a more beautiful sight.

Their eyes are still locked in wordless communication as Jim swallows around Sherlock’s cock, his knees shaking and his enitre body trembling in response to the pleasure running through it. Jim keeps his cock in his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to let go, sucking lightly as it gradually goes limp. It’s all Sherlock can do to keep upright, and he has to use Jim for support. Eventually Jim releases his flaccid cock with a sigh, and pulls slightly away to tug his boxers back up. Without the support, Sherlock’s knees give out and he sinks to the floor in a heap. Now on level with Jim, he opens his eyes, only to see the man straightening his suit and rising to his feet. He dabs at the corners of his mouth with a silk handkerchief.

“Said I’d make you moan, didn’t I?” Jim says in an indulgent, though somewhat breathless voice, his eyes glittering down at Sherlock. His erection is still evident, straining hungrily against the material of his charcoal suit trousers. Sherlock concentrates on getting his breathing pattern back to normal, and can’t come up with a fitting reply.

Casually, Jim starts patting the pockets of his suit jacket, and almost as an afterthought lets a hand rummage through his left trouser pocket. Sherlock narrows his eyes, and as he suspected, only a few moments later Jim produces the key to the door.

“You… had the keys all along?” Sherlock’s voice is incredulous and gruff, no trace of the anger he was going for. He groans in exasperation, and pulls up his knees to rest his elbows on and support his swimming head.

“Oops, rather seems I did. Silly me, I must have forgot,” Jim coos. He unlocks the door and opens it. “Now that your samples are ruined anyway, your afternoon schedule is cleared, and I have a situation I expect you to take care of,” he says, and runs his palm lightly over his erection. He inhales loudly at his own touch, before he turns and steps inside the flat.

Sherlock pushes his sweaty curls out of his eyes, and takes a few calming breaths. For a few seconds he considers just leaving Jim to his own devices, but eventually concedes to himself that Jim has played him rather well. Losing is still not something he’s ready to accept lying down, and a smile spreads across his face as his mind starts working on ways to repay Jim’s childishness.

He rises to his feet and follows Jim inside, closing the door behind him. Jim is standing in the hall, waiting for him with the same smirk that started it all. Sherlock knows only one way to erase it, and he saunters slowly towards the smaller man.

“I’ll take care of your situation. And before I’m done with you, you will beg for mercy.” The sparkle in Jim’s eye and the sound of his breath catching is all it takes for Sherlock to forget everything around him.


End file.
